


be my weekend lover, but don't be my friend

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Leverage
Genre: Kissing, M/M, highly improbable rescues that could have been done in much easier fashions, mostly it was just an excuse to write kissing, tv tropes: sleight of tongue, vague casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate finds himself at the mercy of a henchman who barely knows which end of the gun to point at him let alone what to do with one... which, of course, is right when Sterling shows up to save him. During the vaguely threatening monologue. </p><p>Super.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be my weekend lover, but don't be my friend

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the [sleight of tongue](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SleightOfTongue) trope over on tvtropes and was basically just an excuse to write some kissing. Plus, I miss Leverage.

Nate was in trouble. Oh, boy was he in trouble.

Sophie was going to _eviscerate_ him if he managed to get out of this.

Emphasis on the _if_.

His comm lay smashed on the ground off to his right, ground to dust underneath the expensive Italian loafers worn by his mobster-turned-witness-turned-killer-turned-witness-again-turned-killer-again-turned… you know what, it didn’t matter. What really mattered was the gun that Franco Alighieri was holding against his forehead.

And the handcuffs that bound Nate’s hands behind his back, tight against the rough wood of the chair, cutting off his circulation.

And the malicious grin on Franco’s face.

And the sick, gut-twisting knowledge that he wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this one.

It hit Nate, suddenly, that he was never going to see his team again and the thought closed his throat so swiftly he almost choked.

It wasn’t fair.

“You know, Mr. Ford, we have a saying back home in Italy,” Franco leaned in close, so close that Nate could pick up traces of his cologne mixed with the traces of spearmint that lingered on his breath, “about people like you who meddle in the affairs of _la famiglia_ …”

“And I’m sure it’s horrifically threatening.”

Nate’s head shot up and Fraco spun around so quickly he nearly stumbled, swinging the gun from Nate towards the new voice.

James Sterling looked as though he’d stepped out of a high class party and somehow found himself in the dim warehouse instead – he was completely out of place with the steel girders and crates, standing there with his hands at his sides and his lips tilted in a half-smirk.

Nate gaped at him as Sterling completely ignored his presence, gaze fixed on Franco. He smiled, pleasantly, like they’d met up on the golf course instead of on opposite ends of a gun.

“Hello, Franco,” he said, and Nate twitched. That just… sounded _wrong_.

“Who are you!?” Franco demanded, fingers tightening on the pistol and James sighed.

“Oh, must we do this whole song and dance with the gun and the threats of physical violence?”

“You’ve got ten seconds, asshole—”

“Relax,” Sterling doesn’t move beyond a slow, almost languid grin. “I have no plans to interrupt your little… meeting.”

Slow, bone-chilling fear trickled into Nate’s blood – Sterling wouldn’t just let him get shot here… would he?

Sterling still had yet to look in Nate’s direction even once. His gaze was still focused on Franco and only Franco, who looked as confused as Nate felt.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Franco blustered, waving his gun in an almost shrug, like he wasn’t sure how exactly he’d lost control of the current situation.

Sterling tended to have that effect on people.

“Let’s just say I’m a friend,” Sterling stepped forward and the gun froze, pointed between his eyes. Sterling merely stared him down, until Franco hesitated, lowering the gun just a bit. Nate recognized that look – he knew it well, had seen it used both for him and against him in the past. It was the kind of look you just withered beneath, the kind that sliced at your self-confidence and made you feel about three inches tall.

“Alonzo sends his regards. Now get out of my way.”

Nate’s eyebrows shot up. Alonzo was their goal – the leader behind Franco’s blustering, a force of terror and intimidation in the neighborhood. And Sterling had dropped his name as casually as if he’d had the man for dinner recently.

Sterling continued to walk forward, past Franco, his expensive shoes the only sound on the grimy warehouse floor, until he was standing in front of Nate.

Nate looked up, all the way up until finally he met Sterling’s eyes. He stayed silent, waiting, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Nate wondered what kind of a picture he painted, bound to the chair like he was. The cut on his cheekbone was stinging, though it didn’t feel like it was bleeding anymore.

It had been so painfully stupid to come by himself, Nate could admit that now. It wasn’t often he made such giant missteps in his planning.

He wondered if his team knew he was gone yet.

Sterling looked down and to the side. When he spoke, his words were soft, like he, Nate, and Franco were standing in a bubble. The only three people in the world.

“Clearly you’ve got some cleaning up to do,” he said to Franco. “This is messy. Poorly done. You can guarantee Alonzo will be hearing of this.”

“H-Hey…” Franco looked really uncertain now, gun pointed uselessly at the floor, and Nate would almost be entertained if he wasn’t kicking himself. How the hell had he allowed himself to be caught by such an amateur?

But Sterling was shaking his head, bending lower and slipping one finger beneath Nate’s chin, lifting his head to look at him. Nate could feel his blood pump, adrenaline surging through him, wrists tingling as his blood tried to force its way past the tight restraints that cut off his circulation. 

“Although I must admit…” Sterling purred and Nate was now not only cut up, bruised, and exhausted but he was also completely _bewildered_ , “that you’ve found yourself a very pretty little toy, Franco.”

“Uh… yeah,” Franco puffed his chest, clearly trying to impress whoever this buddy of Alonzo’s was, and Nate heroically resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Then Sterling dipped his head smoothly, guiding Nate’s head to exactly where he wanted it, and Nate barely had a chance to stiffen his spine in surprise before Sterling was kissing him.

And not just a brief you’re-probably-about-to-die-but-we-have-some-history-so-bye-i-guess kind of a kiss, which was what Nate would have expected, but a slow, soft insistent slide of lips together. Nate’s mouth fell open (in shock and gaping surprise, obviously – it had nothing to do with the way Sterling’s tongue was tapping on his lower lip, sliding past his teeth and into his mouth and oh, holy _shit)_.

Nate’s eyes were still open, staring wildly at Sterling, who stared back, challenging.

After a second of pure, cloud-floating surreal detachment from reality in which all Nate knew was the feeling of Sterling’s lips on his and the smell of his cologne, something distinctly hard and solid clacked against his teeth.

Nate realized what it was the same moment Sterling tapped his tongue insistently, and allowed his ex-partner to slide the small metal key into his mouth.

Mission accomplished, Sterling broke the kiss, stepping back smoothly and leaving Nate straining forward in his chair, mouth half-open, spit-slick and shiny.

He snapped back in his chair, the key heavy beneath his tongue, and Sterling cleared his throat subtly, turning back to Franco and smoothly spinning a tale about how disappointing it was that Franco had been so easily tracked and really, Alonzo expected _better_ from his employees, and wouldn’t it just be an absolute _shame_ if something terrible were to happen?

It wasn’t as though Nate didn’t _appreciate_ Sterling’s… uh, effort, but how the hell was he supposed to unlock his handcuffs from behind his back with the key under his tongue? He couldn’t move his hands!

Franco was stammering, but Sterling continued to cut him off, not allowing him to get a word in edgewise. He was also, Nate noticed, conveniently standing directly in front of him, completely blocking him from Franco’s field of sight.

Then a hand tapped his and relief, so sharp it was nearly painful, shot through Nate and turned his knees to jelly.

“Chill, dude, spit the key in your lap or somethin’, kay, my knees’re killin’ me.”

Hardison’s voice was low, harsh, and quite possibly the most amazing thing Nate had ever heard. As subtly as he could, he opened his mouth and let the key fall into his lap, catching it between his thighs.

There was some shuffling, and some muttering on Hardison’s part as fingers fumbled their way up Nate’s thighs and this whole incident suddenly and immediately went into Nate’s category of things that they were absolutely never going to speak of again as long as they lived.

Hardison unlocked the handcuffs and Nate let out a slow breath, feeling blood pulse in his wrists again.

Ok, that was step one – but not even Sterling could keep Franco completely distracted while they snuck away.

Then, Sterling tilted his head. “And I believe that’s the end of this conversation,” he said and Nate knew without looking that there was a grin on his face, a quick sharp tiny grin that always meant bad news for literally everyone it was ever directed towards.

The next sound was the dull painful thunk of flesh hitting flesh and flesh hitting concrete and Franco dropped like a bag of flour and lay still.

Sterling stepped aside and Eliot flicked his hair out of his face, glowering at Nate. Nate looked from Eliot to Sterling to Franco’s motionless body.

“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?”

“Got held up,” Eliot growled, and Nate stood, shaking off the handcuffs. Eliot stepped over Franco like he wasn’t there and jabbed a finger into Nate’s chest. “Do that again, and I’ll kick your ass myself.”

“Noted,” Nate said, dry but warmed to the core, because he knew better than anyone what Eliot’s threats really meant.

“Seriously, dude, ‘kay, I think that was enough togetherness for us to last for forever.” Hardison sounded mildly horrified, walking around the chair and when Nate glanced at him, smiling, Hardison shook his head. “Nuh-uh, Nate, no, ok, don’t gimme that, that little ‘oh thanks Hardison I’m not gonna tell any of you but I love you all just so very much’ grin, ‘kay, not when I was just feelin’ all around your junk.”

Sterling tried to turn his surprised laugh into a very poorly disguised cough and Nate blinked because that was the big unanswered question, wasn’t it? Why was Sterling even here?

He looked pointedly at Sterling until Eliot sighed, apparently still put out about the whole situation. “Long story. The girls are still grifting at the—” he broke off, side-eyeing Sterling, “place. With the thing.  And I was… occupied. With the other thing. At the other place.”

“Actually Sterling that found you,” Hardison tapped away at his phone. “Scared the hell outta me too, thank you, by the way.” The last was directed at Sterling, who looked decidedly unapologetic. “Just appearin’ outta nowhere blathering about how you’re in trouble in some warehouse in the middle of frickin’ nowhere.”

“I’m sorry, would you rather I kept it to myself next time?”

Eliot glowered at him and Nate decided that yep, now was an appropriate time to vacate the premises. 

He ushered everyone out, shooing Hardison and Eliot in front of him and grabbing Sterling by the sleeve when he hesitated, shoving him after the boys.

Sterling shot him a look and Nate’s eyes, completely and totally without his permission, flicked to his lips.

Oh yeah. That happened.

… Well.

And Nate had thought their vague antagonistic friendship had been awkward _before_.

He planted a hand on Sterling’s back, ushering him forward and the four of them piled into Lucille, parked conveniently nearby and Hardison stepped on the gas.

Franco would wake up hours later, alone in the warehouse with a single missed call on his cell phone from a name that would make him break out in cold sweats and a bunch of memories that didn’t make any sense.

Sterling left as soon as Lucille had stopped moving again and frankly, with the way Eliot was glaring at him, twisted around in the front seat, Nate didn’t blame him.

They’d looked at each other for a long stretched moment as Sterling said, “Well, this is me,” and pulled open the van door.

For a wild moment, Nate wondered if Sterling was about to arrest him.

Then Sterling shrugged, the corner of his lips lifting into a half-smile. “Goodbye, Nate.”

Nate lifted a hand in a silent farewell and Sterling turned on his heel and strode off, literally into the sunset.

For a long, stretched moment, they watched him go in silence.

“Weirdo,” Hardison muttered, and Eliot got up and dragged Lucille’s door shut.

Just before the door closed, Nate thought he caught a glimpse of Sterling turning around, to look back at the van, to watch them escape to freedom, purposefully letting them slip away yet again.

… Nah. Couldn’t be.

 


End file.
